


missed deadlines and faded bruises

by lbswasp



Series: i guess this is growing up [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Career Advice, Gen, Steve gets a mentor, mentoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-08 15:25:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13461096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lbswasp/pseuds/lbswasp
Summary: “Dear Notre Dame University Admissions Board,I am responsible for a bunch of middle school shits who insist on charging headfirst into danger. It is my responsibility to keep them safe, and I suck at it. I got beaten to a pulp in front of them, and then they stole a car and kidnapped me, and then we set fire to a bunch of living tunnels underneath our town. I thought I was a better babysitter than boyfriend, but maybe not. Then again, I did get them all home safe despite the monsters from another dimension trying to kill us, so that's a win, right? Just like my grandfather Otis won at Iwo Jima...”After the Gate is closed, Steve still has to work out how to write a college admissions essay. Fortunately, Dustin knows just who to help Steve on his voyage of curiosity.Beta'd by the very kinddeinvati.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set in early November 1984 — so after the main events of the story but before the Snow Ball.
> 
> I went back and watched the scene where Steve and Nancy talk about Steve’s application essay in S02E01 ‘MADMAX’ and if you are quick with the pause button and able to read fuzzy writing you’ll be able to see that Steve’s grandfather was called Otis Harrington and fought at Iwo Jima.
> 
> Apparently the Indiana University Bloomington uses the Common Application process, but Indiana University South Bend doesn’t? Well, it does in this fic! Also, I’m not from America, so if I make a major error in how US college applications in the 1980s worked...sorry. Please let me know in the comments.
> 
> Apparently the librarian’s name is Marissa. The actress who plays her is Christi Walden, so I’ve decided to call her Marissa Walden for this story.
> 
> Cookie to whoever names the movie the guidance counselor comes from first.

Steve ran his hands through his hair and winced when he bumped one of the lumps on his skull from a week ago. He had no idea how he’d managed to make it through school last week. It seemed surreal — trying to keep a bunch of mad middle schoolers safe from demodogs, trekking through living tunnels, getting his face bashed in by Hargrove…

As both Steve and Hargrove had impressive bruises when they turned up to school that day, the gossip mill reached the conclusion that they’d had a massive throw down over who was King of the School. Neither Steve or Hargrove had bothered to correct the rumours, Steve because he’d lost rather spectacularly (and according to Dustin, had been rescued by Max) and Hargrove...well, who knew why Billy did any of the things he did.

Hargrove had kept his distance from Steve for the week, and Steve had tried to turn his attention to his college applications and not brood over Nancy. He wasn’t sure he was succeeding in either case.

He’d missed the early admissions date when everything had gone down the other week, which meant Steve had more time to work on his essays. But it also meant that Steve still had to work on his essays.

Steve dropped his hands to the table and looked down at the instructions in front of him:  
_Answer one of the following themes in 500 words:_

  1. _The lessons we take from obstacles we encounter can be fundamental to later success. Recount a time when you faced a challenge, setback, or failure. How did it affect you, and what did you learn from the experience?_
  2. _Describe a problem you've solved or a problem you'd like to solve. It can be an intellectual challenge, a research query, an ethical dilemma — anything that is of personal importance, no matter the scale. Explain its significance to you and what steps you took or could be taken to identify a solution._
  3. _Discuss an accomplishment, event, or realization that sparked a period of personal growth and a new understanding of yourself or others._
  4. _Describe a topic, idea, or concept you find so engaging that it makes you lose all track of time. Why does it captivate you? What or who do you turn to when you want to learn more?_



There were the a few other options but these ones were all marked as standard for universities in Indiana and Illinois.

Then there was his father’s alma mater: Notre Dame. His father wanted him to either start working for his company immediately, or go to business school at Notre Dame...then work for his company. The essays for Notre Dame were two hundred words on “What excites you about the University of Notre Dame that makes it stand out from other institutions?”, as well as another two hundred words each on two questions from the following list:

  1. _The University of Notre Dame is a Holy Cross institution whose educational philosophy has been formed around five core principles inspired by Blessed Basil Moreau, C.S.C., the founder of the Congregation of Holy Cross. These principles, or pillars, of a Holy Cross education are Mind, Heart, Zeal, Family, and Hope, and they continue to shape our students today. Which pillar or pillars resonate most with you? Why?_
  2. _For whom are you responsible?_
  3. _What is one thing that you know for a fact? Why are you certain?_
  4. _Tell us about something significant that recently occurred in your community. Why does it matter to you?_



Steve was tempted to answer questions 2 and 4 about his recent experiences. He could see it now:

“Dear Notre Dame University Admissions Board,  
I am responsible for a bunch of middle school shits who insist on charging headfirst into danger. It is my responsibility to keep them safe, and I suck at it. I got beaten to a pulp in front of them, and then they stole a car and kidnapped me, and then we set fire to a bunch of living tunnels underneath our town. I thought I was a better babysitter than boyfriend, but maybe not. Then again, I did get them all home safe despite the monsters from another dimension trying to kill us, so that's a win, right? Just like my grandfather Otis won at Iwo Jima...”

_Yeah, that’d go down spectacularly well. What about…_

“Dear Notre Dame University Admissions Board,  
Recently in my community, we discovered that the Department of Energy has been doing some freaky fucking experiments on kids in our backyard, and they accidentally released a bunch of hell beasts from another dimension. A kid got possessed, there were ‘demodogs’ — creatures whose faces opened up like flowers that had way too many teeth, and I set fire to some living tunnels. Good times.”

He hadn’t had to sign a new non-disclosure agreement after this year’s fuckery, but he was fairly sure last year’s still applied and that even without an NDA hanging over his head, demodogs weren't an appropriate topic for an application essay.

Steve resisted the urge to pound his head on the table. His face was still bruised. Hitting his face on the table wouldn’t help.

“Steve!”

Steve was pulled out of his maudlin thoughts by the smack of books on the table. He looked up to see Dustin grinning at him.

“What are you doing here? Working on an assignment?” asked Dustin.

“College application essays. They...suck,” replied Steve and Dustin pulled a face in sympathy. “What are you doing here, squirt?”

“Hoping to avoid being yelled at by Miss Waldon. Last time I was here I kinda stole some books.”

“You stole some books?”

“I was on a voyage of discovery and I needed my paddles!”

Steve just stared at Dustin. He thought it was safer if he didn’t ask.

“Why are you working on your essays here?”

Steve sighed. “I wasn’t getting anywhere working on them at home. Thought maybe a change of scene would help.”

“Has it?”

“Not exactly. I keep wanting to write them about what we did last weekend and I...can’t.”

Dustin screwed his face up in sympathy. “Can’t your parents help?”

“Out of town.”

“Don’t you have, like, a guidance counsellor at school?”

“Ms. Perky isn’t exactly...useful about stuff like this.” _She’s useful about words to do with penises and that’s about it,_ thought Steve. “And unless I want to go and work for my Dad next year, I need to get into college.”

“Why don’t you ask Mr. Clarke?”

“Mr. Clarke?”

“Our science teacher. He went to college, and he’s always helping us with stuff.”

“I can’t just ask your teacher for help,” protested Steve.

“Eh, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Come get me after AV Club tomorrow andwe’lltalktohimthenbye!” yelped Dustin as he grabbed his bag and hightailed it out of the library, the angry librarian’s voice yelling “Mister Henderson, return those books, darn it!”

 

* * *

 

The next day, Steve wandered over to Hawkins Middle School around 4.30pm. He’d spent a frustrating afternoon in the school library staring at a blank piece of paper and the Common Application essay questions and was no closer to working out what he wanted to do.

Steve had no idea when AV Club finished, but he figured if there was no Dustin, he'd just head home.

Steve also had no idea where the AV Club met, as there hadn't been such a thing when he went to Hawkins Middle School. Or at least, if there had been, Steve never would have been involved. Still, he guessed that it was somewhere in the science and shop area of the school, so he headed for there.

And promptly had to leap out of the way as Max came barreling through the hallway on her skateboard.

“CUT!” Steve heard Lucas yell. “Steve got in the shot! We'll have to reset and go again!”

This was greeted with groans from the rest of the Party, who were standing around the corner with a bunch of film gear and a teacher.

“Lucas, your enthusiasm is great,” said the teacher, “but we've run out of time today. We can pick up again next week.”

Lucas grumbled but helped the others pack up.

“What are you termites doing?” asked Steve as he helped them haul the equipment down the hallway. “Making a movie?”

“We're experimenting with various ways to make special effects! Max is our star — we're trying to show her zooming through space,” explained Will.

“That... that sounds pretty cool,” said Steve.

“It's not cool,” said Lucas. “It's better than cool. It's SCIENCE!”

The others had clearly heard this before, because they joined in with Lucas on 'science’.

“It's both cool AND science,” said the teacher with a placating tone. Steve thought this was probably Mr. Clarke, but Steve'd had a different science teacher when he'd been a student here at Hawkins Middle School.

Steve was proven right when, after they'd piled the film equipment back into the AV room, most of the Party chorused “Thanks Mr. Clarke!” as they grabbed their bags and tumbled back out the door.

“My liege, do you have a moment?” asked Dustin.

“Sure I do, Dustin. What's up?”

“This is my friend Steve. He is on a voyage of discovery and needs your help.”

“Hi Steve,” said Mr. Clarke as they shook hands. “What kind of voyage of discovery are you on?”

“Discovering how to get into college!” piped up Dustin.

“College, Steve? Any idea where you want to go?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, do you at least want to know what you want to study?”

Steve shrugged. “Not really.”

“I can see why you're having problems! My knowledge might be a bit out of date, but sure, I can help.”

“You can?”

“Sure. What's your tomorrow afternoon looking like?”

“I have basketball practice again, but should be free around 4.30?”

“Sounds great. Let’s meet at the public library in town and we can talk through some options. But in the meantime...think about what you want to do. Not necessarily where you want to go, or what you want to study, but...what do you want to do? Where do you see yourself in a few years?”

 _That’s easy,_ thought Steve. _Looking after the shitheads, making sure they are safe. Being useful. Keeping people safe. Oh!_

Something on Steve’s face must have changed, because Mr. Clarke chuckled at him. “Looks like that was helpful already. Write down what it was and we’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, thanks sir. See you tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

Steve dropped Dustin home after that, and Mrs. Henderson invited him in for dinner. Steve thought about saying no seeing if he could do a bit of career research in the Library, but it was after 5 and well, Mrs. Henderson makes a spectacular meatloaf, so...he stayed.

He sat in their cramped little kitchen and soaked in the warmth and the laughter of the Hendersons. He wasn’t quite sure why Mr. Henderson had left, but Mrs. Henderson didn’t seem too sad about the demise of her marriage. She whirled around the kitchen, cooking, ruffling Dustin’s hair, asking about their days, laughing at Dustin’s description of Lucas’ overbearingness as a filmmaker, congratulating Steve on how many free shots he’d managed to sink at practice that afternoon…

It was nice. Steve’s house was never like this. Even when his parents were home, silence reigned in the Harrington household.

Silence and the ever-present threat of the swimming pool. Steve hated the thing now. Refused to go near it. He’d swapped his things into the spare bedroom after the events of last year so he didn’t have to sleep overlooking the pool anymore. The plain white walls of the former guest bed were more soothing than the gridded wallpaper he’d had on his walls anyway — or at least that’s the excuse Steve gave his parents when they had been home for once and asked.

He didn’t want his parents’ lifestyle. He didn’t want a cold, empty house, constant trips away, and dinners full of sharp conversation and cigar smoke. Not even if it came with health insurance and benefits and everything.

Steve wanted something homey and warm. Something like the Hendersons’.

Now he just had to work out how to get it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hop, there’s a young man here to see you — Steve Harrington. No, I don’t know - no, he’s not bleeding. No, he doesn’t look worried. No, he doesn’t have a baseball bat with him. I don’t know! He’s here to see you, not me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of a resume of failures was first raised by Melanie Stefan, but the most well-known example is from Johannes Haushofer.

The next day, Steve bolted down his lunch. There were some perks of being a senior, and leaving campus during lunch and free periods were one of them. He reckoned he had enough time to get to the police station and back again before English. He couldn’t afford to miss English — his grade was hanging by a thread, and he was hoping that having perfect attendance would help.

“Um, hello ma’am,” he greeted the receptionist. “Is Chief Hopper available?”

“I’ll see if he’s free, dear. What’s your name?”

“I’m Steve, ma’am. Steve Harrington.”

The receptionist picked up the phone and called Hopper. “Hop, there’s a young man here to see you — Steve Harrington. No, I don’t know - no, he’s not bleeding. No, he doesn’t look worried. No, he doesn’t have a baseball bat with him. I don’t know! He’s here to see you, not me!” She slammed down the phone and waved Steve through the Dutch door.

Steve hesitantly walked through and found Hopper leaning against the open door of his office. Hopper gestured and Steve crossed the office at a trot, dodging around the officers and desks.

“Chief Hopper.”

“Harrington. What brings you here?” asked the Chief as he ushered Steve into the office and closed the door behind them. “What is it this time? More demodogs? You seeing visions now?”

“No sir, nothing like that!” Steve hurried to explain. “I was more here for...career advice.”

“Career advice?”

“Yes sir.”

“You’re a senior now, aren’t you? Off to college next year?”

“Yes sir, and hopefully. My dad wants me to follow him into his business, but…”

“But what, Harrington?”

“I want to do something different.”

“What does this have to do with me, Harrington?”

“I was thinking about becoming a police officer, sir. Like you.”

Hopper looked at Steve for a long time. Steve suppressed the urge to squirm. “A police officer.”

“Yes, sir. Here in Hawkins.”

Hopper nodded. “It’s...not a dumb idea, kid. God knows we could use some young blood around here, and I know you have a sensible head on your shoulders. I was impressed at how well you looked after those kids this time, even if none of you have explained how your face got beaten in.”

Steve just looked Hopper dead in the eye, refusing to react.

“Yeah, the others did the same thing. I don’t want to know.”

“So...can I become a police officer here?”

“It’s not up to me, kid. It’s up to you. You need to be 21 to become a police officer in Indiana.”

Steve sagged back in his seat. “Really?”

“Yeah, kid. Really.”

“Well, shit. What do I do until then?”

“I don’t know. I got drafted, but I’m not sure the Army is right for you. They’d make you shave off your hair for one.”

Steve raised a hand to his hair in automatic defence, making Hopper chuckle.

“It would do you good to get out of town for a bit, though. Live somewhere without all this freaky shit happening. Meet new and interesting people, grow a bit. People who spend their whole lives in one town...some of them seem happy about it, others seem pissed off they never got to experience anything else. Before you decide to spend your life here, experience life elsewhere.”

“So go to college?”

Hopper shrugged. “If you want. I never went to college, even though I could have on the GI Bill. It gives you something to do for the next three or so years, anyway.”

Steve pulled a face. “So I still have to write those application essays.”

Hopper laughed as he stood. “‘Fraid so, kid, ‘fraid so. And that I definitely can’t help you with. Anything else?”

“No, sir. Thanks for your time.”

“No problem. Also, kid — if I might need some babysitting services in the future?”

“For El? Yeah, sure Chief. Just let me know.”

“People don’t know about her yet. You’ll have to keep quiet about it.”

“Chief, the only people I could conceivably tell would be the shithea— the Party. Anyone else, I can just say I’m babysitting and they won’t care.”

Hopper ran his hand over his face. “Fuck, those kids will be the death of me. That Wheeler kid parked his bike in front of my truck this morning and wouldn’t budge until I’d told him El was okay.”

Steve nodded in sympathy. “They’re a stubborn bunch of termites, sir. It might be best to just...let them see her. Or else they’ll figure out a way to do it on their own that will probably involve them hotwiring a tank or something. They’ve done shit like that before.”

Hopper stared at him. “Now I really don’t want to know where those bruises came from, do I?”

“No, sir.”

Hopper sighed. “Things are still a little hot right now — the Army is sending in some people to deal with the Lab for good. Once they’ve gone, I’ll see about letting the kids interact with El some more. Try and work out if we can make her part of the community or something, maybe head to high school with them in the Fall. And speaking of school…”

Steve looked at his watch. “Shit. Thanks for the advice sir, but I’ve got to run.”

“I figured. Stay safe, Harrington, let me know if anything comes up.”

“Thanks, Chief. And you ever need a babysitter, let me know.”

 

* * *

 

The next day, Steve drove over to the public library after basketball practice. He’d succeeded in planting his feet when Hargrove had shoulder charged him this afternoon, which Steve was rather proud of. Steve thought he’d seen something like approval in Hargrove’s eyes when Steve hadn’t fallen over this time, but it was gone before Steve could be sure.

He hadn’t talked to Hargrove after practice — hadn’t really said anything to him since their fight the other week. Hargrove roared into school in a cloud of heavy metal and smoke, and left the same way. Tommy and Carol and all the other ‘cool’ teenagers gravitated around Hargrove as if he was the sun, and that suited Steve just fine. It left him to mope over Nancy in peace. And get his grades up. Or at least, that’s what Steve kept telling himself.

So far, Steve had done more moping than studying, but college was probably the best way for him to fill in the years before he turned 21 and could join the police force, so...he’d have to study more. If it wasn’t for the fact that he knew varsity sports looked good on an application, he’d pull out of the basketball team before the season really started at the end of the month. The team had plenty of talent this year. They didn’t need him. But unless he was allowed to put “babysitting a group of terrors who insist on facing down hellbeasts with chocolate bars” on his applications as an extracurricular, basketball had to stay on there.

Steve entered the public library to see Mr. Clarke sitting at one of the big tables, a bunch of books piled around him.

“Good afternoon, Steve.”

“Good afternoon, sir. Thanks again for helping me.”

“I’m not sure how much help I’ll be, but Dustin’s been talking you up all day so I figure I should do my best to help out his friend.”

“Dustin’s a good kid.”

“The entire AV Club are, and they all seem to idolize you.”

“Yeah, I’ve babysat them a few times. They are cool termites.”

Mr. Clarke chuckled. “Termites. That’s a good one. The library closes soon, so...what was the idea you had yesterday?”

“I was thinking of becoming a police officer.”

“A police officer?”

“Yes, sir. I like helping people, and looking after the kids has made me realize I like being responsible for people’s safety. I think I would be good at it.”

“Sounds like you’ve thought about it. Do you have any idea how to become a police officer?”

“I went and spoke to Chief Hopper today. He said you had to be 21 to be a police officer in Indiana, so I’d need to find something to do for the next few years.”

“Do you need to go to college to become a police officer?”

“Chief Hopper said he didn’t, but he was in the Army, so maybe it was different for him? I don’t really know. He mentioned that college could be a good way to get out of Hawkins and see some of the wider world before I came back here.”

“You want to be a police officer here in Hawkins?”

“Yes, sir. Hawkins is my home. After all, if I’m not around, who’s gonna keep the termites safe?”

Mr. Clarke hummed. “They really mean a lot to you, don’t they?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Clarke picked up one of the books on the table and handed it to Steve. “Here, you look through Career Paths and I’ll look through The Complete Career Guide. See if we can find anything about the process.”

There was silence for a while as Steve and Mr. Clarke paged through the general career advice books.

“This book gives some basic information,” said Mr. Clarke. He read aloud: “There is no single organization that set standards for law enforcement minimum requirements in Indiana. Recruits must first apply to a local police department, sheriff’s office, or the Indiana State Police and either be hired or sponsored. Each department sets its own basic hiring requirements and procedures. The basic requirements across the State are you need to be a US citizen —”

“Check.”

“— have your high school diploma or GED —”

“Probably going to be check.”

“— a valid driver’s licence —”

“Check.”

“— have a criminal record clear of any felony convictions —”

“Check.”

“— be in good physical shape —”

“Check.”

“— and be 21 years of age.”

“Not check.”

“Once you meet those requirements, you need to finish a police academy training program in one year. There are lots of different ones in the state, apparently, but you need to do one that is certified by the Indiana Law Enforcement Training Board. Oh, there are specific physical fitness standards you need to meet before you can be let into a training program.”

“Oh?”

Mr. Clarke passed him the book and indicated the list of standards.

“Jump vertically at least 13.5 inches, complete 24 sit-ups in one minute, run 300 meters in 82 seconds, complete 21 push-ups, and run 1.5 miles within 18 minutes and 56 seconds. I can do...some of these. I need to work on my endurance running though.”

“You also need to age, what, 3 years? 4 years?”

“I’m 18, so yeah, 3 years.”

“Okay, you have 3 years to work on your running. Do you think Hopper would be willing to hire or sponsor you to go through a training program?”

“Probably? His main criteria were be over 21 and get out of Hawkins for a few years in the meantime.”

“Right then. What do you want to do for a few years? I mean, according to these guidelines, all you really need to do in the next three years is get your high school diploma, not get a felony conviction, and keep your fitness up.”

“I could go and work for my Dad, I suppose. He’s pretty keen on that. Or go to his old college. He went to Notre Dame, but I’m not sure I have the grades to go there.”

“What does he do?”

“I have no idea. I think it’s something to do with mergers and acquisitions?”

“I’m not sensing a lot of enthusiasm for following in your Dad’s footsteps, to Notre Dame or elsewhere.”

“Yeah. I mean, Notre Dame has a pretty good basketball program, but I don’t know if it’s the right college for me. And I don’t think I have the grades for it.”

“How are your grades going?”

“Aw, shit. I should’ve asked for a copy of my transcript or something, right? Fu-sorry, Mr. Clarke.”

Mr. Clarke smiled. “That’s fine, Steve. You’ll need a copy if you do end up applying anywhere, so it’s a good idea to get that as soon as you remember. Overall though, how do you think your grades are?”

“Not the best,” Steve sighed.

“So Notre Dame probably isn’t an option. That’s a really competitive school.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I think I want to stay in Indiana, stay near the kids. I just...I really don’t know what I want to do,” sighed Steve. “How did you know you wanted to be a science teacher?”

“I always liked science,” said Mr. Clarke with a smile. “So when I went to college, it was easy to chose a science major. I realised I wasn’t that interested in going into a research lab and teaching was a better fit. I like kids, so I went for elementary and middle school as my speciality rather than high school.”

Steve just looked at Mr. Clarke. “You make it seem so easy.”

Mr. Clarke laughed. “When it’s summarised like that! In reality, there was a lot of stress and worry as I was making my decisions. Also it helped that I failed one of my math classes.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, in my first year. I had vague plans of maybe specialising in mathematics and astrophysics. To go work for NASA or the JPL out in California or something. But it turns out that while I was decent enough at math at school, I was not good enough at college level math.”

“So you failed?”

“I failed a couple of tests and to this day I have no idea how I passed the final. As far as I can remember, I mainlined coffee and didn’t sleep for several days leading up to it. And I passed, just,” chuckled Mr. Clarke. “It was enough to realise that I was not going to be an astrophysicist, so I’d need to find something else to do.”

Steve blinked. “That...that actually helps to hear. Everyone else makes it seem like their life was a smooth order of easy decisions and successes, and that I’m an idiot for being a lost 18-year-old with no idea what they want to do.”

Mr. Clarke laughed. “I had a great advisor in my first year. He sat me down when I came to his office in despair over my failing math grade and showed me his ‘resume of failure’.”

“Resume of failure?”

“Yeah. He had a list of every class he’d failed at college, every grant he hadn’t gotten, every job he’d been passed over for...yet he was a tenured professor. He made me see it was okay to fail as long as you kept going.”

“Huh.”

“Did that help?”

“...yeah. Yeah, I think it did.”

“Great!” smiled Mr. Clarke. “Now, the library is about to close. We didn’t really find an answer to what you should be doing next year, but maybe I helped a bit?”

“Yeah, you did. I know more about becoming a police officer now than I did before, so thanks Mr. Clarke.”

“No sweat, Steve. Have you looked through the _Comparative Guide to American Colleges_?”

“No?”

“It gives you the basics of every college here in America. Their ranks, their specialities, and a bit about their history. It might give you a better idea of where you might like to go for the next few years.” Mr. Clarke passed the book over. “You might also want to ask Miss Walden for some books about police training. They might give you an idea of what sort of college courses would be useful for you to take.”

“Thanks Mr. Clarke. I really appreciate your help.” Steve shook Mr. Clarke’s hand as the teacher stood.

“It was my pleasure, Steve. Like I said, I became a teacher because I like kids.”

“I’m not a kid!”

“You’re still in school; you’re still a kid, kid,” laughed the teacher as he left the library.

With a sigh, Steve put the books they’d looked through back on the cart for shelving, then went and asked Miss Walden for books about police training.

Mr. Clarke had been helpful, and he did have a better idea of what he wanted to do in the future. Just not next year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The basic requirements for becoming a police officer in Indiana are from this site. I’m fudging things slightly to say Steve **must** be over 21 to be a police officer — apparently that’s a guideline? And each department can set their own rules? Which just seems like anarchy, really (coming from a country where we have one (1) police force that requires attending a national training center and has set standards that are applicable over the entire country).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _S &M_ is my favourite Metallica album (I was raised on opera, so heavy metal with a full orchestra behind it was my rebelious teenage jam), but that’s like...20 years too late for this story. So _Ride the Lightning_ it is! I can't wait until Stranger Things gets to 1986 — _Master of Puppets_ is so fucking good you guys. And then 1987, and _Appetite for Destruction_...Billy is going to flip his shit when he hears _Welcome to the Jungle_ for the first time.
> 
> According to the Wiki, Nancy and Billy are both 17 and Steve is 18. Since Nancy is a Junior, I’ve decided Billy should also be a Junior. Which actually has nothing to do with this story, but...will be relevant later.
> 
> The information about the Cadet Officer Program comes from the ”Protect IU webpage.
> 
> It’s called the IU Bulletin these days. I’m assuming it was the same back in the 1980s and I am probably 100% wrong. I’m also making the massive and most probably wrong assumption that degree structures were the same back then as they are now, so...yeah. 
> 
> I loved planning out my degree (despite not winding up doing what I thought I was going to do at all, natch) so I may have gone overboard planning Steve’s. But look! Here’s what his degree could actually look like! How cool is that?
> 
> I found a copy of the Common Application online, so if you’ve never seen it before have a look. I’m mostly glad I’ve never had to fill it out...

A few days later, Steve was waiting for the shitheads to be done with AV Club. He’d been roped into babysitting them this evening, as it was parent-teacher night at the Middle School. He had a pile of quarters to give them at the Arcade and planned on taking them to get burgers after. Steve wasn’t sure why kids who were 13 were thought to need a babysitter — he remembered being left to his own devices after school when he was much younger — but figured it had something to do with general paranoia after Will had disappeared. And really, Steve didn’t mind. It was nice to feel useful, to feel needed.

It was one of those oddly nice days Hawkins sometimes had in the autumn, so he was sitting on the hood of the Beemer, enjoying the sun. He pulled out one of the books he’d gotten from the library on police training to flick through while he waited.

It was pretty interesting — this book gave some of the history on how different police units in Indiana had been established, and some of the bigger busts and scandals in the state’s history.

Steve’s reading was interrupted by the sound of Hargrove’s Camaro roaring into the parking lot, guitars screaming from the stereo.

“Harrington,” grunted Hargrove as he got out of the car.

“Hargrove,” said Steve. “Here for your termite?”

“Yeah. Here for yours?”

Steve nodded. Hargrove didn’t seem to want to talk more or start a fight today as he settled on the Camaro’s hood and lit a cigarette, and that was just fine with Steve. 

It was very nearly peaceful sitting there on their cars. The only noises were the drag of Hargrove’s cigarette and the flick of Steve’s pages barely audible over the screaming of the music coming from Hargrove’s car. Steve realized he'd been braced for a fight and consciously forced his muscles to relax. As he did so, he noticed that the noise from Hargrove's car had lyrics.

_Death in the air_  
Strapped in the electric chair  
This can't be happening to me 

“...is that a song about being killed in an electric chair?” asked Steve.

Hargrove grunted. “Yeah. What of it?”

“That’s...odd.”

“It’s Metallica, pretty boy. These guys are the shit.” Hargrove glared at Steve, who held his hands up. Getting punched in the face by Hargrove wasn’t on his list of things to do today. This music wasn’t as good as The Police, but it wasn’t bad.

They sat in silence, listening as the singer screamed about being electrocuted. Hargrove finished his cigarette and started playing with his lighter, while Steve read his book more.

“Fuck, this town is boring. I mean, here you are, the so-called King of Hawkins, and you’re what? Sitting in a parking lot, reading a book, waiting for your kid friends.”

“Hey, you’re sitting here too, waiting for your sister.”

“ _Step_ -sister!” snapped Hargrove.

“Whatever. You’re doing the same as me.”

“At least I’m not reading. What the fuck are you reading about anyway?”

“Mad Dog Irvin.”

“What?”

“Mad Dog Irvin. He was a robber who shot a bunch of people in Indiana in the 1950s.”

“...Yet I’m the weird one for listening to music about being electrocuted.”

“Shut up, Hargrove.”

“Make me, pretty boy.”

Steve just flipped the bird at Hargrove, who grinned and lit another cigarette.

The sound of bells startled Steve for a second. They sounded like church bells, not the tinny electronic bells of Hawkins Middle School.

Then the guitar and drums kicked in and Steve realised it was another song playing from Hargrove’s car. This one had a long intro, and he found himself nodding his head to the grinding beat of the song. This song wasn’t so bad.

“So why did this Mad Dog kill people?”

“He was a robber, mostly. Convenience stores, gas stations, the odd house, that sorta thing. Decided it was more fun to rob and shoot. His first victim, Mary Holland, was shot in the head at close range while she was at work. She was 3 months pregnant at the time.”

“Jesus. That fucking sucks.”

“Yeah.”

Any further conversation was halted by the termites piling out of the school at a run, yelling and shouting over each other in their enthusiasm.

“Steve! Can we go to the Arcade now? Please?!” was the gist of what the yelling was about.

“Yeah, that’s the plan, guys. Pile in.”

Dustin claimed the front seat while the rest of the Party scrambled into the back.

“Billy? Can you take me to the Arcade as well?” asked Max.

Hargrove rolled his eyes as he got off the hood of his car. “Fuck, Max, I had plans for this afternoon.”

“Plans like what? Jerking off in front of your mirror?”

Hargrove lunged for his sister, then stopped himself when Max didn’t even flinch. “Just...plans, you little bitch.”

“I can take her,” said Steve before he’d even realized he was going to speak. “I’m taking the rest of them — one more isn’t a problem.”

“I don’t know, pretty boy. Last time I found you with my sister it was fucking suspicious.”

“Jesus Hargrove, I’m taking them to the Arcade then to get burgers, then dropping them home. Don’t be fucking disgusting. They’re kids. I don’t know what sort of shit you Californian weirdos are into, but I don’t fuck around with kids.”

Hargrove got right up into Steve’s face. “You don’t fuck around with kids?”

“Fuck no. They’re kids.”

Hargrove blew his cigarette smoke right into Steve’s eyes. “Okay then Harrington. You can take Max to the Arcade; I've got shit to do. But if I hear of anything fucking suspect happening on your watch, the beating I gave you the other week will look like a series of love taps to the shit I’ll rain down on you if you fuck around with her.”

“Why do you care? She’s only your step-sister.”

“She’s my responsibility, fuck-knuckle. I might not like the little shit, but I’m responsible for her. So fuck with her, and I’ll fuck you over.”

Steve nodded. “She’ll be fine with me, I promise.”

“Does anyone care that I can take care of myself?” interrupted Max.

“No!” snapped Hargrove and Steve in unison.

“I’ll take care of Max and drop her home after burgers,” promised Steve.

“You’d fucking better, Harrington.”

“Don’t cream your pants, Hargrove. She’ll be fine and you can go do...whatever or whoever the fuck it is you were going to do today.”

Hargrove flicked his cigarette to the ground and nodded before getting into the Camaro and peeling out of the parking lot.

“Right, shitheads. Everyone needs to have their butt on a seat, then we can go.”

The kids tumbled over each other to make sure they were sitting vaguely sensibly, and once Steve was happy they were all sitting on seats not each other, he pulled out of the parking lot at a much more reasonable speed than Hargrove had done. The termites were his responsibility, after all.

* * *

Steve had pulled Max to one side at the Arcade, just to check everything was okay with Hargrove. Steve couldn’t get a read on the guy — he seemed to have serious issues with Max, but was also really protective of her. Hargrove also had the twitchiest hair trigger Steve had ever come across. The guy could go from being chill to furious in the blink of an eye, and just...Steve just wanted to make sure Max wasn’t getting the result of his temper.

Steve wasn’t sure why he cared, but...Max was one of his kids. They’d gone through hell together earlier this month, and after shit like that, he counted her as one of his termites. If anything happened to her…

“Max. Everything okay with Hargrove?”

“Huh?”

“Billy. Is everything okay with him? He seems...psycho.”

Max just stared at him. “Why does no one trust that I can take care of myself?”

Steve held up his hands in surrender. “You can, Max, you totally can. It’s just...he’s a lot bigger and stronger than you. I just wanted to check you were okay.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Billy’s a shit, but he’s backed off since I threatened to bash his balls in with your bat.”

“SINCE YOU DID WHAT?!?”

Max sighed. “Oh yeah, you were passed out for that part. I drugged him then threatened to bash his junk in.”

Steve looked around frantically, hoping no one has just heard this tiny girl admit to drugging someone and threatening them with a lethal weapon. “Max! Hush!”

Max just stared at him again. “Relax, Steve. It’s fine. Billy’s fine, I’m fine, everything's fine. I can take care of myself.”

Steve nodded. “Okay, twerp, I believe you. Just...you can trust me, okay? If anything happens, you can come to me.”

“And you’ll do what, get your face beaten in again?”

Steve sighed and put his head in his hands. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

Max smirked. Although she and Hargrove weren’t related, in that moment Steve could almost see the family resemblance. “I mean, I could be persuaded to forget it.”

“Persuaded?”

“Yeah, persuaded. Like with some quarters or something…”

Steve just blinked at her. “You cunning little shit.”

Max gave him a sunny grin and held her hand out. Steve handed her a few quarters and she trotted across the Arcade to Dig Dug. “Hey! Henderson! Come and watch how the master does it!”

* * *

Sunday night found Steve reading through the book of police history in Indiana again, trying to tire his brain out enough to get to sleep, when something jumped out at him. 

_In 1972, the Indiana University Cadet Officer Program was begun. The Cadet Officer Program, normally two years in length, allows full-time Indiana University students to work in the criminal justice system and in a law enforcement agency while pursuing their degree. Completion of the Cadet Officer Program, including the IU Police Academy, provides a comprehensive and unique law enforcement training which, coupled with the university's educational programs, produces a highly qualified, experienced, and educated law enforcement professional. Though students are normally enrolled in an academic concentration related to criminal justice, any field of study is acceptable. In addition, some academic departments award credit for participation in the program. Finally, the officer, while working with the IU Police Department may establish career opportunities and contacts with other agencies._

Steve thought about it for a while. This sounded...kinda perfect? He could go to college and get through police training at the same time. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to study, but he at least had narrowed it down: Indiana University. Flicking to the map of Indiana University campuses, he worked out that South Bend was the closest to Hawkins. It was only a two hour drive. That would work…

_I’d be far enough away that I can definitely say I’ve left Hawkins, and experienced campus life. Yet I’m close enough that if any shit happens with the Upside Down again, I can be back here quickly. I should get a pager or something so the kids can message me if —_ when _— shit happens again._

Steve wasn't sure why, but he was certain that the Upside Down wasn't done with Hawkins just yet.

* * *

On Tuesday, Steve met Mr. Clarke at the public library again. After a bit of rummaging, Miss Walden was able to produce the _Indiana State University Bulletin 1984_ , which outlined what courses were available at the different universities, and Mr. Clarke helped Steve work through it.

“Okay, Steve, there are two ways you can do this. You can decide which course you want to do, which narrows down which campus you can go to, or decide which campus you want to go to, which can limit what you can study.”

“I think I’d like to go to South Bend.”

“You really want to stay close to Hawkins, huh?” asked Mr. Clarke as he flipped to the _IU South Bend_ section of the Bulletin. “Well, it says here that South Bend has nearly 100 degree programs, so you can pretty much take what you want. Do you know how you get a degree?”

“You...study?”

Mr. Clarke laughed. “No, what courses you need to take? How it actually all works?”

Steve ran his hands through his hair. “I have no idea.”

Mr. Clarke grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, and divided the piece of paper into four sections. “Generally, a degree can be completed within four years. Within those four years, you’ll take a range of courses. To get a degree at IU,” Mr. Clarke checked the Bulletin, “you need 120 credit points, and each course is usually worth 3 credit points. So that’s...40 courses over the length of your degree, which means 10 a year or 5 a semester. Maybe 6 a semester if you think you can handle the workload. Some of these will be general education requirements, some of these will be requirements of your major or minor, and some of these are free electives you will use to make sure you have 120 credit points at the end of your studies. Make sense so far?”

Steve nodded. “I didn’t realise getting a degree was so mathematical.”

“Well, you did come to a scientist for advice,” said Mr. Clarke. “Here, look, the Bulletin gives a sample degree map for a degree in Sociology. See how it’s a mixture of Sociology courses, general education requirements and electives?”

Steve looked over the diagram and nodded again. “That makes it seem pretty clear. I still don’t know what I actually want to study though.”

“Well, you’ve got time. You don’t have to enrol in particular courses until right before the semester starts — and you can change your courses for a few weeks after the semester starts if you really don’t like a course. Maybe try and narrow your interests down to two or three areas, and take an introductory course in those in your first semester. See which one captures your interest the most.”

“Thanks Mr. Clarke. I have more of an idea now than I had last week.”

“Great, Steve! What about your application? It’s no use deciding what you want to study if you won’t get accepted in the first place?”

Steve shuffled through his papers and pulled out his half-completed Common Application. “I can do most of the biographical stuff — social security, the information about my parents. My extracurriculars are pretty slim though - I’m on the Varsity Basketball team but that’s really my only activity.”

“Nothing else?”

“Unless there is some way for me to put babysitting Dustin and the others on here, that’s all I’ve got. I’m not a theatre person and I’m not interested in student government.”

Mr. Clarke tapped his pen against the table. “What if there was a way to make your babysitting more official?”

“Huh?”

“You could come and be my assistant in supervising the AV Club. It would be unpaid, of course, but I could make it an official post and then I can write one of your letters of recommendation for you.”

Steve stared at Mr. Clarke. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course, Steve. Like I said, Dustin and the rest of the club speak highly of you. And to be honest, now that there’s five of them in the club, I could use some help to corral them when they start roaming around the school.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. I could use the help and it would look good on your application. You might want to look into getting some volunteer work in town somewhere as well — that always looks good on applications,” said Mr. Clarke. “So, your application will look a bit more solid by the January 1 deadline. What about your essays?”

Steve groaned and swiped his hand over his face. “The essays are the worst part. I just don’t know how to start.”

Mr. Clarke chuckled and grabbed a fresh sheet of paper. “Now, I’m not an English teacher, but I find it helps to have a plan. There are seven essay topics — six standard questions and the open ended one. You have time — why don’t you write down some bullet points, some ideas you have for each question, and we can work through which one feels the strongest?”

* * *

It took a lot of scribbling, and crossing out, and red pen, and asking others to read his essay for him and give him advice, and running after the kids at AV Club, and spending time volunteering down at the police station (if Steve never had to clean out the evidence locker again it would be Too Soon) but Steve finished his application and got it sent off by the deadline — even after all that shit went down in December and a very distracting blonde menace started taking up a lot of his time.

Steve’s parents weren’t home when he got his acceptance letter. But that was okay, because he called Mr. Clarke as soon as he opened it.

It was Mr. Clarke who’d helped him the most with it, after all. Mr. Clarke who’d answered the phone when Steve’d rung in the middle of the night panicked about his application. Who’d helped him sort out a study schedule for the ACTs. 

(Nancy couldn’t really help; as a junior her testing schedule was completely different from his. Steve still wasn’t sure why she wanted to be with Jonathan, the guy had taken some pretty creepy pictures of her after all, but it was Nancy’s choice and Steve wasn’t about to make her decisions for her) 

Mr. Clarke had guided Steve and supported Steve and taken him for a congratulatory pizza when the final test was done. Who’d taken Steve under his wing and helped him, despite having no actual reason to. Steve wasn’t one of his students, wasn’t a family member. If it hadn’t been for Dustin introducing them, Steve was fairly sure he’d never have met Mr. Clarke.

Steve still couldn’t work out why Mr. Clarke had done it. Steve had been very careful to thank Mr. Clarke once the application was in, and had asked Mr. Clarke if there was anything Steve could do to pay him back.

Mr. Clarke had just smiled, and told him to pay it forward. Help someone else, somewhere down the line. And to go and persuade Dustin that no, they can’t use the Heathkit to try and intercept Russian spy communications.

A few days after Steve got his acceptance letter, the AV Club threw Steve a “Congratulations on being accepted to college!” party in which they all got to set a lot of stuff on fire. And Mr. Clarke told Steve he was proud of him and shook his hand.

Steve swore it was all the smoke in the room that made his eyes well up. Nothing else.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi at [Tumblr ](http://www.lbswasp.tumblr.com) :-)


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